


Bad Habits

by Maxie_A



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Gen, Habits, He's sixteen, More neutral than anything, Not entirely a bad ending either, Not exactly a happy ending or anything, Not in the sharp pointy objects sort of way, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, This is sort of a way to bring attention to the fact that self-harm isn't just about cutting, Trauma, Younger Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6834532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxie_A/pseuds/Maxie_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter had small habits that he, himself, wouldn't always figure out right away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Habits

**Author's Note:**

> Warning, in case anyone didn't see it in the tags. This, while makes absolutely no mention of sharp objects, talks about Peter's methods of self-harm, which aren't like the common versions you hear about often.

Peter had small habits that he, himself, wouldn't always figure out right away.

He realised, one day, dressed in his civilian clothes, of course, that he couldn't think very well in his science class. Usually he would bring headphones and have them on, constantly, even when they weren't playing any songs, but the cheap thing snapped in half over an unfortunate run-in with the Rhino. He had left them at home, telling himself he would fix them when he got back from school. He couldn't pay attention to any of his classes, which would be normal, honestly, until he realised it became difficult to listen to his science teacher. It baffled him, really. His favourite class, and he can't even think straight?

Instinctively, he clasped his hands over his ears, not entire blocking out any sound, but making the noises around him just a bit fuzzier. And he realised, strangely, that this was much better for him. He was processing the information, now. He's never realised this before, because he's always had his ears covered, even when he was out swinging through the cities as the known vigilante, Spider-man. The mask made the noises he received just a bit fuzzy, so he never had to worry about it.

It was a new development, probably. His heightened senses were still hard to deal with. That must be it. Although, strangely, Peter felt as if this has been a very old aspect about him, something that dated back to when his parents left him. Back to when he would squeeze his eyes shut and claw at his ears in the darkness of his room, wondering what he had done wrong.

No. No, it definitely had something to do with his heightened senses.

He picked up another one of his small habits the moment after he webbed up some idiot petty criminal. He would stop, just briefly, and listen to everything around him. Listen for the sound of sirens, or helicopters that flew too low, or the sound of careful boots bounding their way towards him, or the sound of handcuffs clanking against someone's waist, or possibly even a gun. He stopped when he realised he heard nothing, and then thought, briefly, why he did such a thing. He thinks about the time a cop shot him twice, one in the leg, the other in the hip. No, he wasn't scared of the cops. That would be ridiculous. Most of them are nice, now. 

He still thinks about the wicked, cruel smile that one officer had after hitting him with the bullets, and his stomach drops as he shoots a web at a nearby building and swings off. 

There was one particular habit he figured out while hanging out with his Aunt May. Sometimes, he would eat with his left hand, his excuse being that he was trying to be ambidextrous. (He's finally gotten the hang of using chopsticks with his left, too, and he's rather proud of it.) He'd sit beside his aunt's left, reach across the table, and lightly curl his fingers over her hand, without even noticing. Sometimes, when they're sitting around on the couch, watching a movie or some cheesy show that they love to criticise together, he would wrap a finger around her pinky, or loop his hand over her wrist.

He likes to think he's comforting her, but he knows, with every fibre of his being, that he's the one that needs it. He knows that she's what's keeping him grounded. And guilt gnaws at him at the idea that he's seeking comfort, when he knows he should be giving it.

An especially bad habit of his was knitting. He was incredibly good at it, of course, but it was difficult to get him to stop, sometimes. He wouldn't even need to look at what his hands are doing. He could have an entire conversation with Tony Stark, babbling on about nanotechnology and clean energy substitutions with as much passion as he could, and his fingers would subconsciously reach out for his knitting supplies and get to work. He's made so many hats and scarves that he had to begin giving them away, and when he ran out of friends to gift, he would sell them. If he weren't out being Spider-man, he would have started a full-out shop by now. 

...

His worst habit is one he never actually figures _is_ a habit.

Sometimes, he would punish himself.

There are days where he gets yelled at by a teacher, or someone says something that really hits something within him, and he would skip lunch because he felt that he didn't deserved it, or provoke Flash because he knows it would bring out violence. Sometimes he would snap at his friends, as if he hoped they would get angry with him and stop talking to him. Other times he would bang his limbs against certain surfaces, pretending to be clumsy, but in actuality, he's looking for bruises. He takes some weird joy in poking at the dark purple splotches he leaves behind, even as they begin to quickly fade away, his healing being better than most. He doesn't remember much of the times when he hasn't done anything like this, so he doesn't think it's a habit, but just how he's always been. Just something about him that he was born with, maybe. Something that's always been apart of him, and therefore can't be cured.

He doesn't remember that he began doing it shortly after his parents left. He doesn't remember little 7-year-old him slapping his fingers hard on the edge of a desk, or recklessly jumping off tree branches, or frequently shocking himself with his little inventions. He doesn't remember little him biting his arm and thinking about all the things he's done wrong, and why he deserved what he was doing to himself. He doesn't remember, one day, crying into his Uncle Ben's shoulder, asking himself what he did to make his parents hate him enough to leave him.

He likes to think no one notices. And most people don't really. But his friends give him a look he can't decipher, sometimes, one without a smile or a frown. A look almost like they know something, but they don't at the same time. 

He ignores the looks. It's not a habit. It's just him being himself, so he can't do anything about it. So, he moves on, never mentions it.

He forgets about it. He thinks there's probably other things about himself that he can start working on, like getting over his lip-biting habit, or his habit to make weird noises with his mouth. No use trying to fix something that can't be fixed.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of turning this into a series, someday. Maybe. I don't know, I like the idea of Harry, later on in life, trying to help Peter out, but it goes horribly wrong or something.


End file.
